


Elegant Alliances By Olenna

by LibKat



Series: It's Olenna's World And We Just Live In It [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Or Fans of Fox News, not for cersei fans, wedding planner trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibKat/pseuds/LibKat
Summary: Brienne Tarth is a junior consultant in Olenna Tyrell's wedding planning business.  Why is she being given the biggest wedding of the year?  And why does the groom have to be him?





	Elegant Alliances By Olenna

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the first in an unconnected series. The idea came out of my 2018 Christmas fic “894 Hallmark Movies Can’t Be Wrong” where mentions of Olenna make her seem like an unholy love child of Oprah and Martha Stewart. The very trope-y series will feature Olenna-run businesses where either Brienne or Jaime works and meets the other. Hopefully, hijinks and love will ensue.
> 
> This fic is the wedding planner trope.
> 
> In this AU, Cersei is Tywin’s child, and Jaime is a distant relative raised in Tywin’s household. That way, we avoid outright incest.
> 
> I have no idea how often I will post new pieces in the series. But if you follow my writing, you already know that.
> 
> Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones, and these characters belong to a whole bunch of people who are not me. I will return them undamaged when I am finished playing with them.

Elegant Alliances By Olenna

_I can do this!_

Sometimes the power of positive thinking didn’t work. Brienne picked up her leather portfolio, her cell phone, and gave a last check to her simple but hopefully stylish navy blue suit. It wouldn’t do to be greeting prospective clients with ink or coffee stains again. This appointment was important to Madame Tyrell. Not so much because Madame wanted the contract for Elegant Alliances, but because she wanted the prospective client to feel one-upped in every possible way. 

Brienne’s boss had been vicious, elegantly so, as Madame Tyrell did everything elegantly, but still brutal in her assessment of the couple who were coming in for a consultation this morning.

“She’s a stone bitch, dear. I’ve known her since she was a small child. She was an absolute horror then, and she only got worse as she grew up. Too much money, too much pride, too much beauty, and far too few brains.” Madame Tyrell had said as she told Brienne that she wanted her least experienced junior consultant to be her number two for the Lannister-Baratheon-Martell/Lannister appointment.

Madame had continued. “She’ll do all that she can to exert dominance over everyone in the meeting. That poor boy won’t have a prayer of standing up to her. He never has. She’ll be absolutely ghastly to you, I’m afraid. This will be the final test of your suitability in this profession. You must be able to stand up to this level of pressure with our signature grace and elegance.”

“I’ll do my best, Madame. Though we both know that elegance doesn’t come easily to me.” Brienne tried to keep her gaze steady on Madame’s face rather than casting her eyes down to the floor. Avoiding a gaze was an admission of weakness and bridezillas smelled weakness in their wedding consultant like sharks smelled blood in the water. 

“Nonsense, my dear, you’ve grown by leaps and bounds since I plucked you from the Highgarden legal department. You’ve depths that were wasted reviewing dull contracts all day. I have an eye for talent!”

Madame Tyrell gave Brienne that stare that dared anyone to argue at their own risk.

Brienne had straightened her broad shoulders in response. “I won’t let you down, Madame. I promise.”

Even as she’d said it, Brienne knew that it was a lie.

If the groom had been anyone else, anyone at all, even a film star like the bride’s second husband or a political up-and-comer like her first one, Brienne would have pinned her tight-lipped smile on her face and persevered no matter how rude the bride wanted to be. So many bridezillas wanted the reaction to their antics. If you didn’t give it to them, they found other prey.

But the groom had to be him.

She’d gotten over him. She really had. 

There hadn’t been anything much too it anyway. Just late nights studying, drunken karaoke on weekends, sharing a house with a couple of other law students and simultaneously rolling their eyes at the drama that the roomies managed to create with their out of control love lives.

If Brienne had felt a lot more for him than he had for her, that wasn’t his fault. As a girl, she’d had a bad habit of developing crushes on men who were way out of her league. 

Brienne had halfway suspected back then that there’d been somebody in his life. She knew suppressed heartbreak when she saw it. But they’d gotten friendly, then friendlier; then they’d started pretty much hanging out all the time.

Their one kiss was totally the fault of post-finals giddiness and tequila.

But Brienne had gone ahead and dreamed up a whole fantasy future around a little tongue and a couple body shots. Over the winter break, she’d hyped herself up to do something about it, take the bull by the horns, put her heart completely on the line, and a bunch of other pep-talk clichés. Then it would be up to him to let her know how he felt.

She came back from the break early. Though her dad was still a little delicate from the mild heart attack he’d suffered the year before, he’d been trying to get her to stop hovering and coddling him since Winterfest Day. Dad had practically packed her bag for Brienne and shoved her onto the ferry.

It was well after midnight when Brienne entered the house quietly, just in case the other roommates were back and sleeping. He never went to bed before two a.m. if he didn’t have class the next morning, so Brienne knew she could surprise him right away and maybe take whatever the thing between them was to the next level without another night of worrying and second-guessing herself.

Brienne heard noises before she saw anything. She knew what those sounds meant. She wasn’t a virgin. She’d imagined pretty damned frequently in the last few months what it would be like if he were making those sounds with her.

She could only barely see the two of them in dark hallway; kissing, groping, dry humping their way towards his room. Brienne stood frozen, thankful she hadn’t hit the lights yet. They didn’t notice her at all. She was able to creep back out the front door with her dignity, if not her heart, intact.

Brienne recognized her. How could she not? Photos of her had been everywhere for years. Debutante of the Year. Social media “influencer” and part-time model. Fiancee of the man touted as a future Conservative Prime Minister.

It figured that the most beautiful man Brienne had ever seen would be in love with the most beautiful woman in the world.

They were some kind of distant relations. They had grown up together. The infotainment magazines had chronicled their teen years relentlessly, but he had disappeared from the limelight, while she, courtesy of her media mogul daddy, had every aspect of her life trumpeted in the tabloids. Serious news shows, not just the ultra-conservative Lion Network, had featured stories on her huge engagement party. Her possible choices of venue, gown, flowers, etc. were breathlessly debated on whole Varrytt threads by people who could never dream of their whole wedding costing what she would be spending just on place cards.

Brienne picked up her suitcase and started the long walk back to the train station that night. She didn’t want to be around when the announcement of the broken society engagement came out. Didn’t want to see the secret joy on his face when the beauty he must have loved for years became available to be his forever.

A sick father was a perfectly valid reason to take a semester off. When Brienne came back to law school, she’d be ready to smile at him and offer congratulations on his coming happiness. 

She really, really would.

But she never had to. When Brienne got back to school in the fall, he was gone, transferred to Kings Landing U. His lover’s wedding to Robert Baratheon had gone off without a hitch, the social event of the decade, eclipsing even the heir to the throne’s nuptials the year before.

Of course, the Princess’s wedding had been genteel; one might even say a stodgy event, not a crimson and gold-laden extravaganza over four days.

Brienne had caught a couple of glimpses of him in the wedding photos released to the press. He’d been one of the groomsmen, way down the line of friends and relations, but still there. The smile pinned to his lips might have fooled most people looking at the pictures. But Brienne wasn’t most people. She’d seen that smile several times when he’d been trying to mask some hurt that was so big he couldn’t let even a hint escape.

Brienne had mostly lost track of him over the years. She’d occasionally read his name in the paper if he were part of the defense team when the Lion Network fought yet another libel or sexual harassment suit. It was about as far from the criminal prosecutor job he’d wanted in law school as he could get. 

A few years after the gala wedding, the marriage to the no-longer-a-shoo-in for Prime Minister imploded in claims and counterclaims of infidelity and abuse. He’d been the family mouthpiece asking for privacy. He’d reappeared when the new divorcee had plunged right into a second marriage to action movie star, Oberyn Martell. He was there again when that marriage ended with a screaming match on the red carpet of the Oscars as Oberyn’s frequent co-star, Elaria Sand slinked back onto the scene.

Now, finally, the wedding that Brienne had expected almost ten years ago was coming to pass.

It didn’t mean anything to her. Brienne had had her own romantic ups and downs in the intervening years. She’d gotten involved with the replacement roommate in her final year of law school, enough that she’d accepted a small diamond ring and started planning a quiet wedding on the beach in Tarth. But one night in a fit of introspection she’d asked Sandor if he really thought they would be happy to wake up to one another for the next sixty years. He’d deflected the question back to her, and that had pretty well summed up their whole relationship. Neither one of them wanted to come out and say if they were happy or not. If this was what they truly wanted. Thankfully, they’d recognized that their relationship was two lonely people settling for what they thought they could get and called things off before they made the ultimate mistake.

Brienne had had some brief encounters since then and a casual, long-distance thing with a lawyer from the far North that had fallen apart when Brienne realized he imagined a future together when she was only looking for occasional sex.

Madame Tyrell had arranged a few introductions for Brienne, hoping to tie her up with one of the many male relations that flitted in and out of Madame’s life and wallet. But nothing had stuck.

Brienne wished that she had a wedding or even an engagement ring on her finger for this meeting.

One last big breath and Brienne left her tiny office to meet the clients.

***

The bride was tapping her foot impatiently, despite Brienne being exactly three minutes early, as Madame instructed all the consultants. The groom was fiddling with a display table setting that had to consist of at least twenty pieces of silverware per place. 

“Ms. Martell, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne kept her voice low-pitched and even as she claimed the clients’ attention. Madame Tyrell had coached her through the initial moments of the prospect encounter until Brienne could do it in her sleep and frequently did in her nightmares. “Welcome to Elegant Alliances by Olenna. I’m Ms. Tarth, one of Madame’s assistant consultants. I’ll take you back to the office, and we can begin to discuss your vision for your event.”

A clatter came from the display table. He turned quickly with his perfect lips dropping open, startled.

“Brienne?”

Brienne pinned a slightly warmer version of her be-pleasant-and-polite-to-the-client smile on her face. “Jaime Lannister? How lovely to see you again.” She turned dismissively away and put her attention where it was obviously expected, on the bride.

Cersei Martell had only grown more lovely in the intervening years, damn her. You’d think the disdainful expression her face wore so often in public would have had some impact on her stunning beauty.

Trying not to hunch her shoulders to minimize her size, Brienne asked, “Would either of you care for something to drink while you meet with Madame? We have a lovely sparkling mineral water from Pentos that many of our clients have enjoyed recently as well as tea or coffee.”

“The last time I was here, I was offered the finest from the Arbor. Olenna’s standards must be slipping.” The sneer on Cersei Lannister-Baratheon-Martell-soon-to-again-be-Lannister’s face as she examined Brienne from head to toe and back again actually did do a little something to diminish her looks. Or maybe that was just Brienne’s prejudice.

“Of course, Ms. Martell. Eryk,” Brienne turned to address one of the reception staff, “would you fetch Ms. Martell a glass of the Redwyne Estate Cabernet and bring it to Madame’s office. And for you, Mr. Lannister?”

Jaime looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Mr. Lannister? Really, Brienne?”

“Madame insists on formality at all times between her consultants and clients, Mr. Lannister.” That was a fib if only a small one. Most consultants grew into a first name basis with their clients after a few meetings. But Brienne didn’t think that Cersei Martell would ever be handing out that permission to the hired help. Brienne often used formality as a shield when confronted with emotional situations she wasn’t ready to deal with.

Jaime’s lips twisted into a smirk Brienne recognized. The smirk that stopped just short of calling bullshit on whoever Jaime was speaking to.

“All right then, _Ms. Tarth_ , I’ll have a coffee, black, two sugars.”

“We have an excellent roast from Naath today. I hope that you’ll enjoy it.” Brienne replied coolly, just as though she didn’t remember that Jaime had once thought coffee snobbery the height of idiocy.

Cersei Martell’s teeth were nearly grinding audibly.

“However do you know this … _astounding_ creature, Jaime? I’m sure you’ve never mentioned her. And she and I have never met. I would certainly remember Ms. Toth.”

“It’s Ms. Tarth, Ms. Martell.”

“Just like the island where you had your second honeymoon, Cersei love.” Jaime put a hand on Cersei’s arm and smiled tightly down at her frowning face. ”Brienne and I knew each other in law school for a couple of years before I transferred to KLU.” 

“Ah.” Cersei Martell made a dismissive sound and then turned her attention back to Brienne. “Well, are you going to take us to Olenna or not, Ms. Tern? Some people have _important_ business to get back to and can’t just stand around all day waiting on underlings to perform their jobs adequately.”

“Of course, Ms. Martell. If you and Mr. Lannister will follow me. Eryk will be along with your beverages shortly.” Brienne’s calm reply covered Jaime’s whispered request to Cersei to behave.

Madame Tyrell’s salon was everything that was understated and elegant. Paper in a cream tone on tone rose pattern covered the walls. The carpet was forest green, thick and plush enough that Brienne sometimes felt like the modest heels on her shoes would one day sink so far that the shoes would be sucked right off her feet. Brienne resisted the temptation to look behind her to see if Cersei was having any difficulty with the four-inch spikes she was wearing.

Brienne sighed silently. Who was she kidding? Women like Cersei never had any trouble.

Upon reaching the double doors at the end of the hallway, Brienne rapped as gently as her large, strong hand could manage and waited for acknowledgment. She could have done a slow count to sixty as Cersei fidgeted and Jaime rocked back and forth on his heels before the response came.

A melodic voice called out, “Come.”

Finally. Brienne hated the games that Madame occasionally played with clients who had offended her in some way.

As Brienne opened the door, Cersei Martell tried to push right past her. There weren’t many advantages to being the size of a football player, but not getting pushed around physically was one of them.

“Gods, Cers, give her a second, would you,” Jaime spoke again at a whisper.

Brienne turned and looked at Cersei for a long moment before stepping back and allowing the woman to enter.

Madame Tyrell was sitting on one of the green velvet armchairs in her consultation area. She did not rise to meet the clients but instead waited for Cersei Martell to come to her. At the very last moment, Madame stretched out her hand for the younger woman to take, looking very like a queen waiting for a subject to kiss her ring.

“Cersei, dear, delightful to see you again. How long has it been? Two years? No, it’s three since the last time you sought my services, isn’t it?” Madame’s voice was languid, as though ennui was already weighing her down, and the consultation had not even started.

Cersei Martell pinned a false looking smile on her face while her hard green eyes glared. Having no other choice without seeming rude, Cersei took Madame’s hand and bent for an air kiss that didn’t come within six inches of Madame’s cheek.

“Olenna, you haven’t changed a bit.” Cersei’s tone made it clear that she did not consider that a good thing.

“Why ever would she?” Jaime’s voice interrupted the chilly atmosphere between his bride and Westerosi society’s top wedding coordinator. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Tyrell.”

Madame disengaged her hand from Cersei’s grip and turned to offer it to Jaime.

“Handsome as ever, I see, boy. Why is it that men get better looking and women just age? It’s not at all fair, is it Cersei dear?”

Brienne wished for a time-out chair where she could put her boss when Madame was no better than a mouthy, misbehaving toddler. This was going to be a very long meeting.

Eryk arrived with the beverages and the couple seated themselves on one of the golden silk sofas, Cersei scooching over as close as she could manage and taking her fiance’s hand. Brienne tried to take one of the side chairs away from the main conversational grouping, but the tiniest rise of Madame’s eyebrow sent her to the other armchair, smack dab in the middle of the action.

“As my secretary tried to tell you, Cersei dear, I’m taking very few bookings for this spring. I want to be able to devote all my attention to my grandson’s wedding to our lovely Renly. It will be the first wedding in this generation for both families, and I want to make sure everything is absolutely perfect.”

How could Cersei Martell still be so beautiful with her face turning purple like that?

“Ms. Martell’s wedding to Robert Baratheon was the first wedding in the current generation of that family, Madame.” Brienne pointed out, hoping to avert the explosion that looked to be coming.

“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me,” Madame’s voice was dry as the shaker of martinis that was chilling on her sideboard waiting to be Madame’s between appointments pick-me-up. “Robert is so much older than Renly; it’s difficult to remember that they are brothers rather than uncle and nephew.”

As Cersei Martell seethed, Jaime tried to throw himself into the breach.

“We aren’t planning to be married until late summer, Mrs. Tyrell. Will that give you enough time to concentrate on Loras’s wedding and to recover from the stress?”

“If that is the case, then I suppose we could take you on as clients. But Brienne would be acting as your primary contact person until after my grandson is off on his honeymoon. And should there be any change in your expected date, you may have to go without my direct involvement entirely. If those terms are acceptable, then we will get to work on the contracts.”

With her lips pursed and her eyes raking Brienne from short, straw hair to modest one-inch heels, Cersei Martell nodded her head.

“I need to hear you say it, Cersei dear. Just so there is no possible misunderstanding.”

“We do understand, Mrs. Martell,” Jaime began.

“I’m happy you do, Jaime, but you are only the groom. You barely matter in this process. I have to hear it from the bride.”

The strangled sound that came from between Cersei Martell’s clenched teeth was almost unrecognizable as the frequently appearing “voice of the modern, Conservative woman” on her daddy’s partisan news network.

“I understand, Olenna.”

A tip of Madame’s head indicated that Cersei should continue.

“You expect to be busy with your grandson this spring and until you are available, this … _assistant_ will be supervising the early preparations for my wedding.”

“And …” Olenna prompted again.

“If my wedding conflicts with your grandson’s _event_ , your attention will be on Loras and Renly,” Cersei said with a tiny twist of her lips that might have been meant as a smile.”

“And you will accept Miss Tarth as my stand-in.”

“And I accept Miss Taft as your stand-in.”

“Tarth, Cersei dear, Miss Tarth. It isn’t so difficult a name to remember, and she will be quite important to you for the next few months. Perhaps you shouldn’t go out of your way to alienate her.”

Brienne’s head swiveled back and forth between the two former debs as though she were watching a tennis match.

“Ms. _Tarth_ , I do hope you will pardon my distraction. Planning a wedding is such a stressful time for a bride.”

Brienne nodded her acceptance of the patently false apology. She was going to have a rocky road for the nine or so months she would spend planning this wedding.

“Excellent. Now can you tell us a little about what you have in mind for this wedding, Cersei dear? As it is your third, will it be a smaller, more intimate affair?”

“Hardly!” Cersei declared. “I’m finally marrying my heart’s desire, the other half of my soul.” Cersei looked up at Jaime with a wealth of possessiveness in her gaze. “It must be the grandest yet of my weddings, the social event of the year. I want everyone to see how happy I am.”

Jaime looked down at their joined hands. Brienne could see that Cersei was gripping him so tightly that her nails were making grooves in the flesh of his hand.

“How happy _we_ are, darling.” Jaime raised Cersei’s hand to his lips while managing to loosen the grip she had on him.

***

The appointment had gone 45 minutes over schedule. Luckily Madame had anticipated this and had blocked out extra time for both the meeting and the recovery from it. Brienne had seen Ms. Martell and Jaime -- _Mr. Lannister, she reminded herself --_ to the door and started to tidy away the wine glass and coffee things.

“For the gods’ sakes, Brienne, leave that for Eryk. Pour us both a drink and come sit down.”

“I have an appointment with the Craster/Tarly party in an hour, Madame. I don’t think meeting them with martini breath would make the best impression.”

“That’s why the Crone, in her wisdom, gave us breath mints, girl. You’d best take that to heart if you’re going to survive as a wedding coordinator. You likely will never meet a worse bride than Cersei Lannister-Baratheon-Martell. You’ll likely never meet a worse person than she is, except perhaps her father, but you will meet any number of over-privileged, self-absorbed bridezilla bitches if you stay in this game.”

“Yes, Madame, so you’ve said.”

“And did you hear her? ‘My grandson’s _event_ ’ as if it weren’t just a valid a marriage as any of hers have been, with a deal more genuine affection between Loras and Renly than she’s ever felt for anything but her own image in the mirror.”

Madame took a martini glass from Brienne’s hand and had tossed half of it back before Brienne had even seated herself again. It was a good thing Brienne had brought the shaker with her.

Brienne took a tiny sip from her glass, barely wetting her lips with the potent mix of gin and vermouth that Eryk had mixed just before the Martell/Lannister appointment time.

“Given how her father’s news shows feel about same-gender marriage being legal in the whole country rather than just in Dorne, it’s not surprising she refused to call it a wedding.”

“Her hypocrite of a father couldn’t give a damn about who does what with whom. All he cares about is pandering to his audience base of idiots, racists, and homophobes. Cersei, I’m afraid to say, is too stupid to see that. Or much of anything else that doesn’t match her Cersei-centric view of the universe.”

Madame finished her first drink and poured a second immediately. 

“Keep up, girl. At the rate you’re sipping, I’ll have to finish this whole shaker myself, and I’ll need Eryk and Aryk to carry me to my limo before mid-afternoon.”

Brienne took a slightly larger sip of her martini, grimacing at the bite of the alcohol. “You know I have no head for liquor, Madame, especially on an empty stomach.”

“That’s a fault you’ll have to remedy if you’re going to stay in the wedding game, dear. After some appointments, if you don’t drink, you’ll find yourself crying. One of the boys will be in with luncheon for us in a few minutes. I want to test out that new caterer with the silly name. He’s sending over a variety of hors d’oeuvres and one of his signature dishes. Some kind of a meat pie, I believe. He might be an excellent option for our clients looking for a more casual atmosphere at their receptions.”

“That’s very generous of you, Madame.”

“Nonsense. It’s my best interest to keep you healthy. You’re going to put through the wringer in the next six months.”

“Six months? But Mr. Lannister said that they wouldn’t marry until later in the year.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Madame shook her head fondly at Brienne. “Of course it will be the spring. The same weekend as Loras and Renly if Cersei can manage it. She won’t have to worry about a venue since her father will insist on having it at the family manse, and Cersei will do her very best to poach every vendor I already have wrapped up in iron-clad contracts. I’m afraid you’ll receive most of the spite over that. It’s why I have you on Sam Tarly and Gilly Craster’s wedding. They will be sweet as sugar and easy as pie. Your only trouble will be with getting them to come to a decision, they’ll be so busy bending over backward to accommodate you and each other. “

“Do you truly think Ms. Martell will try to steal all the attention from Renly and Loras?”

“Why do you think I insisted that she state so explicitly that she knew my schedule and accepted it? I turned on the recorder in this office before you came in. Anytime she complains and threatens to sue because I’m not catering to her every whim, you’ll be able to play her words right back to her.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Madame, why do you keep taking her on as a client if you think so poorly of her?”

“The first time it was because I wasn’t about to let any of my rivals have that wedding. The royal court oversaw the Princess’s nuptials, of course, so the Lannister/Baratheon marriage was the biggest prize of the decade in our business. Bringing that off perfectly, with an interfering father of the bride, a drunken groom, and that bitch on wheels, made me beyond doubt the top wedding planner in the country. And I was friends with her dear mother, though Joanna would be turning in her grave if she could see what her daughter has become.”

“I can understand that, but you took a second bite of the poisoned apple when she married Oberyn Martell.”

“Now that I did for the sheer amusement. Oberyn is a lovely, wicked stallion, and I enjoyed watching Cersei try to break him to her saddle. It was obvious that the marriage would be an absolute disaster, and it was rather like watching a car accident happening before your eyes. Seeing how frustrated Cersei became every time she tried to manipulate and maneuver Oberyn was a simple joy, but mine own.”

“And this time?” Brienne tried to keep her voice casual.

“Ah, this time. Jaime is a sweet boy; he always was. But he’s never could say no to Cersei, not since they were little children being raised together in that mausoleum Tywin calls a home. If we don’t try to inject a bit of elegance and decorum into the proceedings, I’m sure Cersei would have him trussed up in crimson and gold medieval armor while she stalks down the aisle with a crown her head. They aren’t biologically brother and sister, but the fewer inadvertent references to the Whore Queen and the Kingslayer, the less embarrassed poor Jaime will feel.”

“Yes, ‘poor Jaime,’” Brienne’s tone was dry as dust.

“You do seem to be acquainted with our groom. That seemed to come as a surprise to Cersei. How familiar with him are you?” Madame’s eyes gleamed with innuendo.

“We hung out together some in law school, shared a house with other students for a semester in second year. Then I had to take a leave so I could help my dad after his heart attack. By the time I got back at the beginning of the next school year, Jaime had transferred to Kings Landing. That was it.”

“Was it, child? We both know you have a weakness for pretty men. You and Jaime never …” Madame peered at Brienne intently, as though she could read Brienne’s thoughts in the rise and fall of the color in her cheeks.

“No. Never. I thought we were friends. I wasn’t sure what Jaime thought we were. But it was years ago. It won’t affect how I do my job.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

A knock brushed against the door, barely audible.

“That must be the caterer. I think you’ll enjoy what young Mr. Hot Pie has to offer. He might be ideal for the Craster/Tarly wedding.”

***

Madame Tyrell had been correct, of course. Cersei Martell insisted on setting her wedding date for the day before Loras and Renly’s ceremony. And she fought for attention, for purveyors, for press every step of the way. Brienne finally put the recording of Cersei’s agreement over the conflicting dates on her phone and played it so often that just pulling the device out of her pocket would cause Ms. Martell to fly into a rage. 

Madame actually threatened to drop her as a client with the wedding less than a month away when she overheard one of Cersei’s poisonous remarks on Brienne’s efficacy as an event planner.

“And do be aware, Cersei dear, if Elegant Alliances by Olenna walks away from your wedding, all of my contractors walk with me. You’ll have no caterer, no flowers, no reception orchestra, no …”

“You’ve made your point, Olenna.” 

Daggers shot from Cersei Martell’s eyes, but she turned up the corners of her lips in her mockery of a smile.

“Please understand, Ms. … _Tarth_ , I’m only terribly stressed because I want everything to be perfect. I finally have a man so perfect it’s as if I designed him myself. I have a perfect love, and the celebration of that love needs to be perfect as well.”

“And Brienne is doing all she can do to make your day as lovely as it can be, Cersei dear. You must allow her to work within the confines of the reality _you_ chose when you set your date.”

***

Brienne saw very little of the groom during the whole planning process. Even appointments that grooms usually attended, like cake tastings and music consultations found Jaime absent.

When Brienne did see him, he never looked like a man who was marrying the woman he’d been in love with his whole life. After going through a couple of rounds of midterms and finals together, Brienne knew what his stressed-to-the-max face looked like, what his grin-and-bear-it smiles were. And in the last month leading up to the Martell/Lannister extravaganza, even those facades were cracking.

Cersei had decided if she had to compromise on quality because of the competition of the Tyrell/Baratheon wedding, then she would double down on quantity. Thankfully both events were in Kings Landing, so invitees didn’t have to choose between them. They could attend the afternoon picnic for Cersei’s bridesmaids and then make an unobtrusive exit for the meet the family cocktail party for Loras and Renly.

The upper crust of Westeros was going to be run ragged by the time Loras and Renly boarded a stag-and-rose-motif-painted helicopter to take them to their secret honeymoon location.

Olenna might have done some doubling down of her own.

It still felt strange to Brienne, calling Madame by her given name. It was a privilege that none of the other junior consultants had been given. But after a particularly difficult gown fitting, where every one of Cersei’s dozen (12!) bridesmaids felt free to snipe over Brienne’s physical failings, all while Cersei admonished them for their lack of kindness in a way that was just as insulting and encouraged them to continue.

After that, Brienne had returned to the office and _asked_ Olenna for a drink.

About ten days out from zero hour, Brienne was alone in Casterly House, the Lannister family’s mansion, finalizing the design for the reception set in the ballroom. She tried to keep her concentration on her task, but she couldn’t help shaking her head every so often over the ridiculous ostentatiousness of the room. If you could scrape all the gold leaf off of the decorations and woodwork, you could probably pay down a goodly portion of the national debt.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” A voice came from behind Brienne.

Brienne took a couple of deep breaths and raised her stylus from her tablet before the sudden tremor in her hand marred her work.

“I’m sure it will look quite impressive when all the decorations are in place. You’ll have some beautiful photos to preserve the memory of your happy day.” Brienne strove for a neutral tone.

“Cers hasn’t been very forthcoming about her plans. Can I see what you’re sketching to get a better idea of what to expect?” Jaime’s tone was diffident, almost as though he feared to overstep some boundary.

“Of course, Mr. Lannister. It is your wedding, too. If there is any question I can answer, any information I can provide, you only need to ask.”

“Can I ask that you call me Jaime, Brienne, even though you’re still calling Cersei Ms. Martell? Which she hates by the way. Her father insists she uses her married name rather than going back to Lannister. I think getting the last name back is half the reason she’s marrying me.” Jaime tried a chuckle, but it fell flat.

Brienne waited for a second, then picked up the conversational ball. “If you insist, I’ll be pleased to call you Jaime. Now, what do you want to know about the plans?”

Brienne gave Jaime a rough idea of all the events that Cersei had insisted were vital for this wedding to be memorable. Jaime’s face grew stony, then his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open as Brienne outlined the sequence of celebrations he would be facing in the wedding week. After that, he insisted Brienne call up the budget on her tablet. When he saw the projected cost, Jaime blanched so pale that Brienne was afraid he might pass out.

“Gods, you could feed half the country for what we’re wasting on canapes that probably will be barely touched. I don’t understand all this needless extravagance. We could go to the registry office tomorrow and be just as married.”

“Weddings are a once in a lifetime …” Brienne caught herself before as she trotted out the usual platitude fed to the male members of the wedding party to excuse the cost.

“Yeah, but this is her third one. Don’t worry, Brienne. I’m not offended. I had to participate in the other two, while Cers married somebody else.” Jaime shook his head as though throwing off his dark thoughts. “Enough about this. Tell me about you. I always regretted the way we lost touch after your dad relapsed. I tried emailing, but I only had your school address.”

“It was such a stressful time for me. I lost my phone right after I got to Tarth. All my contacts were in it. And Dad needed so much attention. By the time I came up for air months had passed.” Brienne had been rehearsing that fib since she first learned that Jaime Lannister was to be one of her clients. She was almost proud she could deliver it with barely a blush.

“What happened to practicing law, Brienne? It was in the bar association newsletter when you got hired to run contracts at Highgarden. That was a great position for someone your age.”

“It was a good job, but it was so boring. I was never meant to be a trial lawyer, not like you wanted to be. But I’d hoped to do something more exciting than searching for loopholes meant to help one wealthy company to fleece another, or trying to slip those same loopholes past somebody else. When Olenna came into the office one day to ask for someone to examine the contract to build the new salon, she saw something in me. When she offered to have me act as both a trainee wedding consultant and as her in-house counsel, I decided what the heck.”

“And do you enjoy the work? It seems like a lot of stress for not much reward.” Jaime asked.

“It can be incredibly rewarding. Most people see their wedding day as the most important day of their lives. Not just the brides, many of the grooms do to, though they’re usually embarrassed to admit it. Helping that day to be everything a couple dreamed of, making it as easy as possible for them to have beautiful memories that will last them a lifetime, it … it makes me happy.”

“Even the bridezillas?”

“Well, no job comes without its trials, but usually the bridezillas are just scared. They’re nervous that reality won’t measure up to their dreams. Most of them calm down once they realize that I’m their ally, not their enemy.”

“And that’s enough?”

“Yes. I had a couple last week, very sweet the both of them. They each had pretty horrible pasts, though the groom’s family had money if not love. But they were … incandescent to be marrying each other. Watching the joy they got from the celebration I planned for them … that gave me the energy to survive an army of bridezillas.” Brienne smiled as she recalled Sam Tarly and Gilly Craster both breaking down in tears when the Septon wrapped the ribbons around their wrists.

“I heard you got engaged in third year, but I haven’t seen a ring. What happened?” Jaime’s eyes roamed the room, never settling, the way they always had when he thought he might be overstepping.

“We just weren’t right for one another. Thankfully we called it off before we made the biggest mistake of our lives.”

“How did you know it was a mistake?” Jaime’s gaze concentrated on his hands, still not meeting Brienne’s eyes.

“Neither one of us could say that we were excited about seeing each other every day for the rest of our lives. If that prospect doesn’t make your heart beat faster with joy, you probably should rethink getting married. I say it to all my couples with cold feet. Imagine yourself sixty years from now. Does seeing that face, hearing that voice make you happy?”

“Hearing that voice …” Jaime murmured.

Heels clacked outside the ballroom. Gods, Brienne could even recognize her angry walk. 

“Ms. Tarn, this is unacceptable! How could you possibly believe that you could sneak something this tacky by … Jaime! What are you doing here?”

Jaime had risen to his feet and moved partially in front of Brienne, as though to protect her from Cersei’s tirade.

“Brienne has been showing me the sketches for the reception, Cers. And the budget.”

Cersei’s eyes could have incinerated Brienne on the spot.

“You don’t need to worry about any of that, darling. Daddy is taking care of everything. Combining the wedding with launching his new social media platform will make the whole thing show a profit.”

Jaime’s face went pale again beneath his perpetual tan. “Well, I’m glad our marriage is going to expand Tywin’s empire. Otherwise, it might just be a big waste of everybody’s time.”

Brienne had seen some ugly scenes between brides and grooms, and this one was looking to be a doozy. She’d rarely seen Jaime lose his temper back in school, but when he did, it was scorched earth time. Normally she would be trying to calm things down, trying to get the couple talking to rather than at one another. But she was having trouble finding the right words to defuse the situation. She was having trouble finding the desire to defuse the situation. But she was nothing if not honorable whatever her personal opinion might be.

Brienne took a deep breath and stepped to the side to look at both of them. “Ms. Martell, Mr. Lannister, please stop for a moment. This is just the stress of getting ready for your big day. Take a few breaths and let’s talk out what the issues are. We can find a way to compromise that will make both of you happy.”

“You stay out of this! How dare you show him the budget without my permission? You’ve fucked things up right from the start. Are you jealous! Are you trying to sabotage my wedding?” Cersei’s rage seemed to get dialed up to eleven.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Jaime put himself completely between Cersei and Brienne, as though protecting Brienne from a dangerous animal. “Now I know why you didn’t want me involved in the planning. Is your father behind this whole thing? Is our getting married just another one of his business moves, like co-opting Robert for political gain and trying to get Oberyn for his movie studio?”

Brienne gasped. Had Tywin Lannister used his daughter’s hand in marriage to broker business deals? Had Cersei gone along with it even though she was supposed to be so much in love with Jaime?

Cersei’s lips trembled, and her emerald eyes flooded with tears. “How can you say that, Jaime? You know I never wanted … I … I didn’t choose either of them.”

“No, you just let Tywin choose them for you and then nodded and said ‘Yes, Daddy. Whatever you say, Daddy. How much will you raise my allowance, Daddy?’” Jaime spat the words at Cersei, and each of them seemed to land like a blow.

Brienne began to edge towards the door. This was more than her contract required of her. If Jaime and Cersei were going to rehash their whole relationship, she not only didn’t want to, she didn’t _have_ to listen to it.

But Cersei noticed her movement.

As quick as she had produced tears, they dried, and Cersei’s eyes were aflame again with anger. “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded of Brienne. “This is your fault. You’ve been trying to sabotage my wedding all along. Did you think I didn’t know about you? How you barged your way into Jaime’s life in law school and then hung around him like some love-struck fool. I knew you were trying to take him from me. I knew you were manipulating him with your righteous and noble act. As if he’d ever have even glanced at a cow like you. All I had to do was snap my fingers, and he came running right back to me, right back to where he belongs. Jaime is _mine_ , you bitch. I don’t care what tricks you try. You’ll never have him. Not while I’m alive!”

Brienne knew that she was just standing there with her mouth hanging open. How could Cersei possibly know all about their time in law school? How could she have known Brienne’s feelings when Jaime himself hadn’t a clue?

“What the fuck, Cers? Have you completely lost your mind?” Jaime looked as thunderstruck as Brienne felt.

Cersei reached towards Jaime’s face, speaking urgently. “She doesn’t matter, Jaime. Only we matter. Just like when we were children. You are my mirror image, the other half of me.”

Jaime stepped back from her hand. “Get ahold of yourself, Cersei.”

Cersei started to tremble and moan. “I can’t, Jaime. I can’t lose you, not again. I don’t know how I’ll go on without you at my side. I’ve waited … _we’ve_ waited so long to be together. I’m so frightened something will come between us. I can’t let that happen, Jaime. I _can’t_.”

Cersei collapsed gracefully to the floor, with Jaime grabbing her and lowering her gently to break her fall. He looked desperately in Brienne’s direction briefly and then turned all his attention back to his fiancée. Unfortunately, he was at the wrong angle to see the triumphant glance that Cersei threw at Brienne.

“Since you are dissatisfied with my performance as your wedding consultant, Ms. Martel, I will consider our contract to be broken. I will email you the non-proprietary information about the plans for whomever you choose to finish the work.”

Cersei recovered from her swoon immediately. “You can’t! You can’t break our contract! I’ll sue you and that old bat for everything you have. I’ll own fucking Highgarden when I’m through with you.”

“I can, and I will. This is entirely at my discretion. Olenna trusted me to determine when you had crossed the boundary from extreme bridezilla into aggressive abusiveness. You should have read your contract more thoroughly, Ms. Martel. I wrote it myself. It says that if your behavior becomes intolerable to me, I can terminate the contract immediately, keeping every penny you have paid for any services already rendered. I’m not even legally obligated to share my work product with you, but as I am a professional, I will do so in hopes that your next poor victim, I mean, consultant won’t have to suffer as much time in your company as I have.”

Cersei’s face paled. “And how will you prove that I was abusive? My father has the best lawyers in the world on retainer.”

“You really didn’t read a word before you signed that contract, did you? At Olenna’s insistence, and with your signed consent, I have recorded everything you have ever said in my presence, including that little tirade just now. Every word of those recordings will be played in open court if you insist on a lawsuit. How much do you think your fans will like the “voice of the modern Conservative woman” once they hear how you mock them every chance you get? Those ‘blubber-butt, ignorant, trailer trash sluts’ probably won’t take it too well. And neither will your father.”

“You bitch! You think you can beat me, you hideous beast! Just you wait! I’ll get you somehow! Just you wait. I’ll ruin you and that old hag you work for.”

Cersei continued to rant as Jaime stared at her in horror and Brienne calmly gathered her coat and purse and made her way to the door of the ballroom. Standing in the open doorway, Brienne turned and shared a long look with Jaime.

“The voice you want to hear for the next sixty years?” And then Brienne left, closing the door gently behind her.

***

Brienne texted her boss with the news that the Lannister-Baratheon-Martell/Lannister wedding was no longer the responsibility of Elegant Alliances by Olenna and received a series of emojis in reply. By the time Brienne had figured all of them out, she had moved through outrage and laughter and was edging towards sadness. Poor Jaime. Enmeshed so tightly with that bitch that he couldn’t see what she really was and how she really felt. Nobody with an ounce of love in her heart would try to manipulate someone the way Cersei had done to Jaime with her little fainting routine.

A few days after The Scene, as Brienne had come to think of it, a discreet announcement appeared on the Lion Networks social media accounts stating that the wedding of Cersei Martell and Jaime Lannister had been postponed.

There was no retaliation against Brienne, Olenna or Elegant Alliances. Olenna had emailed Tywin Lannister a few choice clips of Cersei’s more indiscreet remarks about his network’s fanbase, with a promise that more would be forthcoming if there were even a hint of a whisper of a scrap of negative gossip about Olenna’s business.

Cersei Martell was photographed entering a posh rehab facility on her canceled wedding date. It was the main topic of conversation at Loras and Renly’s wedding reception. Cersei would probably have taken that as some kind of victory.

Jaime came to see Brienne a few weeks after The Scene. He sat nervously in her office, fiddling with but not drinking a cup of coffee. They sat in silence for a few long, uncomfortable moments. Somebody had to break the ice.

“What can I do …” Brienne began.

“I need to apolo …” Jaime started at the same moment.

They both chuckled nervously. Then Brienne nodded at him. 

“Please, you first, Jaime.”

“I’m sorry, Brienne. I’m so sorry. I should have defended you more. I didn’t know what to do. Cersei hadn’t been like that for years.”

“She’d been like that _before_?” Brienne’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes, she used to have those kinds of tantrums when she was a girl. I never knew how to deal with it then, either. But they had stopped long ago, and I was stunned. The only thing I could think of was getting her calmed down before she tried to hurt herself.”

“I suspect those tantrums only stopped when you were around, Jaime. From what the service people I dealt with said, she was still having them pretty regularly with anyone she considered her social inferior.”

Jaime sighed deeply. “Yeah, I found that out after you left. All the staff at the mansion just shook their heads like ‘There goes Miss Cersei, again. Somebody get her happy juice.’ I don’t know how she managed to hide it from me.”

“Did she hide it or did you just not want to see?” Brienne looked Jaime straight in the eyes as she asked the question.

Jaime’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a trial lawyer?”

Brienne gentled her manner. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, I do. I owe it to you and to me. I’d been blind to almost everything about Cersei for years. I fell in love with her before I understood what love meant. I was a poor relation. I’d only ever seen the mansion at the annual family reunions and then only from the outside. My branch of the family wasn’t invited any further than the garden. For some reason, Tywin came for me when my parents died. I was taken in by the fancy branch of the family, and suddenly I had all these things I never dreamed of. But I didn’t have my mom and dad. I didn’t have anybody who loved me. Cersei found me one day in the garden, crying my eyes out and trying to keep quiet because Tywin said that men don’t cry like babies. She told me she didn’t have anyone either, not really. She promised to love me and told me I would love her. Forever. No matter what. And that was that. The princess of Casterly Rock decided I was hers and that was all I wanted to be.”

Brienne made a low, encouraging noise in her throat.

“I don’t think it was manipulative then. Gods, I hope not. Casterly was a cold and barren place for a couple of kids. Tywin was hardly ever around, and when he was, he was a disapproving bastard. Cersei’s mom had climbed so far into a bottle that if she left her rooms more than once a week, it was practically a cause for a press release. Cersei was just as lonely and unloved as I was. But, as we grew up, I saw less and less of that sweet girl who held my hand while I cried.”

Brienne blinked away some tears and made another encouraging noise.

“The wedding is off. Not just delayed, canceled. I couldn’t keep kidding myself anymore that Cersei was stressed or temperamental or drunk. That she’d been forced into her unhappiness by her father and if I just loved her enough, she’d come back to herself. She had become a stranger to me, and that stranger was someone I didn’t want to know. Not for sixty seconds, much less sixty years. When I told Tywin I was breaking the engagement, he congratulated me on coming to my senses.”

Jaime’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He never forced her into anything. Tywin told her in our last year of college that he would allow us to marry. He even encouraged it. He told Cersei that he would groom me to run the company and she could start providing the next generation of lions for the Lannister legacy. But she wanted to run the company herself. And she had no intention of being turned into a brood sow. Tywin gave her a choice: secure the legacy that way or give me up and make a marriage that would increase Tywin’s fortune. He introduced her to Robert Baratheon a week later.”

Brienne had already migrated from behind her desk to the chair next to Jaime’s. She put her hands on top of his to still their twisting. “I’m so sorry, Jaime. You don’t deserve this heartbreak.”

Jaime’s top had turned and clutched one of Brienne’s. “Was what Cersei said true, Brienne? Did you _like_ me back in law school?”

“I did. I didn’t leave because of my dad. He was doing okay by then. I left because I saw you and Cersei at the end of that winter break. And I couldn’t face knowing I had made everything up in my head.”

“You didn’t.” Jaime’s voice was emphatic. “You didn’t. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but I knew I was feeling something. But Cersei waltzed back into my life, and then you were gone and …”

“Yeah, it creeps me out that she was spying on us somehow.”

“It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wasn’t the last either. I was like a toy that Cersei didn’t always want to play with, but she didn’t want anyone else to have either.”

Brienne disengaged their hands and sat back in her seat. “So, what’s next for Jaime Lannister?”

“Tywin already has my notice. I’ll stay until my current caseload is settled or handed off to outside counsel. Then I’ll try to dust off my courtroom skills. I hope I can find a decent job that won’t suck my soul dry anymore.”

“They are out there. I’ve heard urban myths about them in the lawyer bars near the courthouse.”

Jaime laughed. It was a more carefree sound than she had heard him make since before she left for home on that fateful winter break. “If I manage to find something here in Kings Landing … Can we … Is it too late for us, Brienne?” A hopeful look brightened his eyes.

“I don’t know if it’s too late for us, Jaime. But it is definitely too soon for you. You’ve been half of a couple for almost your whole life.” Brienne watched the light in his eyes go out. “I think you need to figure out who Jaime is on his own before you jump into something new with somebody else.”

Jaime took a deep breath, and Brienne cut him off before he could speak. “I broke my heart over you once, Jaime. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“But you aren’t saying no forever?” Jaime’s voice was quiet.

“No, not forever. But not now. If you feel the same after you’ve had time to process everything, call me. I know a great karaoke bar.”

***

Life went on at Elegant Alliances. It became apparent that Brienne had ascended not only to senior consultant status but also to Olenna’s favorite employee. The following year, when Olenna decided to look for new worlds to conquer and she passed the business on to her granddaughter, Brienne was given a chance to buy in as a full partner. But after the conversation with Jaime, Brienne couldn’t get the contrast between Cersei Lannister and Gilly Tarly out of her mind, and it affected how she looked at her clients. One had every material advantage. The other suffered abuse and poverty. But Cersei has a hole in her soul that nothing would ever fill, while Gilly was blossoming trying to help other girls in horrible situations. Volunteering with Gilly, Brienne met Catelyn Stark, who oversaw a large number of programs through her family’s foundation. And Brienne decided it was time to think about another change of career.

***

Brienne had been in Winterfell for a year, working as an advocate for at-risk youth. She still had a lot to learn about the job, but the Stark Foundation had been more than happy to take on a trainee who also was a bar accredited attorney. She was waiting impatiently for the new member of the prosecutor’s office to show and talk about sentencing for one of her more difficult clients. 

Pacing the small conference room in the shabby government office building, Brienne wondered if she’d wear grooves in the carpet before the prosecutor finally arrived. She’d heard a bit of gossip about “the new guy” but hadn’t met him yet. Talking to him about Theon Greyjoy, a loudmouth troublemaker whose bravado covered a chasm of insecurity and fear probably wasn’t the best way to meet. It would give her the chance to get his measure, tell how flexible he might be when dealing with the troubled children who’d stolen into her heart.

The door opened behind her and Brienne turned to greet the new guy.

Hair shouldn’t glow golden like that in the thin Northern sunlight. Eyes shouldn’t sparkle so beneath the cheap industrial fluorescents.

“Jaime,” Brienne breathed as he leaned nonchalantly in the doorway.

Jaime smiled at her. It was a gentle smile. One she’d hardly ever seen on his handsome face.

“Hello, Brienne. I’ve missed you.”

“How … when …”

“I’ve been up here a couple of weeks. Managed to get in the day you left on vacation.”

“But why? I heard you were in the Riverlands.”

“Yeah, but the Riverrun D.A. lost the election and his successor cleaned house. Luckily Winterfell was hiring. And my therapist thought maybe it wasn’t too soon anymore.”

“Your therapist?” Brienne blinked a few times at the image of the Jaime of her law school days on a psychiatrist’s couch.

“Yep. I had what Dr. Bronn called ‘a massive fook ton of shite’ to work through. But I was motivated.”

Brienne still struggled to catch up. “Motivated?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a date pending for a couple of years now. So tell me, where can a guy and a girl do some karaoke here in the North?”


End file.
